Reprinted from Cleburne Times-Review dated 24 March 1999

The final scene of Confederate Gen. Patrick Cleburne's life was burned by
the white-hot sword of battle into the minds of all the men he commanded in that valiant and bloody charge against the Union Army 135 years ago in a
field near Franklin, Tenn.

It was about 4 o-clock on a still, sunny autumn afternoon on Nov. 30, 1864.
The sun set as the moon rose above a distant tree line.

Six thousand and seven hundred Confederate soldiers marched to the sound of music played by Army bands, just before the fighting.

Suddenly, the bugler sounded the call to battle and within the span of
eternal minutes bullets and cannon fire crisscrossed the broad, open field
that separated the two opposing forces.

Mayor General Cleburne led about 3,000 men, under the principal command of Gen. John B. Hood.

Gen. Hiram Granbury led a similar size force against the "Yankees." The
Union Army's IV and XXIII Army Corps, under command of Maj. Gen. John M. Schofield, had an estimated 9,000 men.

Cleburne, and hundreds of men with him, did not die in a sudden chaotic
flourish of bravery, but with plenty of time to think on the Apocalyptic
spectacle that breathed fire and smoke into his fear-clouded, trembling
soul, according to a book about Cleburne's life: "A Meteor Shining
Brightly," by Mauriel Joslyn.

But God smiled upon Cleburne and his doomed men, granting them an
iron-willed courage that history will never forget.

"By mid-afternoon of Nov. 30, 1864, Maj. Gen. Cleburne was standing on the forward slope of Breezy Hill.

Across the level distance, he could see the small town of Franklin, Tenn.,
and the three lines of Federal defenses that guarded the approach," Joslyn
wrote.

"While his division formed to the right of Franklin pike (highway) he knew
in advance what was to come this day: ordered (by Hood), over his objection, to make a suicidal frontal assault across more than two miles of open ground, he understood too well that for most of "his boys" this would be their final charge."

His men were infantry, mostly expert riflemen noted for their ability to
knock down the enemy with a sniper's distant precision.

Forty-five minutes later, he would be struck down by a Union sharpshooter's bullet in a field not far from the enemy lines.

Previously hurt when his horse fell amid the fighting, Cleburne was ordered
by Dr. Daniel Linthicum, his chief surgeon, to dismount and receive
emergency treatment. But he refused, insisting instead to lead his men into
the narrowing jaws of death.

"Cleburne was riding a brown mare that belonged to Lt. Tip Stanton, a member of his escort. The horse was killed about eighty yards from the (Union stronghold). James Brandon, a courier from Mississippi, dismounted to give the general his horse. The animal was killed before General Cleburne could place himself in the saddle. Cleburne moved forward into the smoke, sword in hand, waving (his hat) and encouraging his men," according to accounts from Gen. Mark P. Lowrey, who led his men near Cleburne's final charge.

Seconds later, a large caliber rifle bullet struck Cleburne in the chest,
just below the heart. He was dead at only 37 years of age.

The battle continued seven hours, until about 11 p.m., and the temperature
dropped below freezing in the night. Cleburne's body remained where he fell that evening, until the next morning. He was found by Cpl. David R. Myers, of the Georges Creek community just east of Glen Rose. Myers is buried in the cemetery there. Myers' grandson, 94-year-old Raymond Elliott, lives in Cleburne.

Two Federal brigades holding the forward position gave way in the
Confederate assault against the perimeter, retreating to the inner "works"
(lines), but they ultimately held firm. After the smoke of battle cleared,
six Confederate generals were dead or mortally wounded.

More than 6,000 Confederate soldiers, and about 2,500 Union troopers, were killed or wounded.

Even in the midst of such staggering losses, Hood's battered forces crawled on, bloody and battle-worn, toward the next conflict in Nashville.

In the years that followed, Cleburne's legend grew throughout the nation,
reaching across the Atlantic and into the countryside of his youth, Cork
County, Ireland. Even among the soldiers who he'd served with, between ages 17 and 20, during a three-year enlistment as a foot soldier in the British
Army-where he learned many valuable battlefield tactics and strategy.

The legend still lives large within the minds of many students of American
history, relatives of soldiers who served with Cleburne, and among his
direct descendants.

He was buried in Helena, Arkansas. Today, a plaque marks Cleburne's
birthplace in Cork, Ireland. A large granite monument marks the site on
Winstead Hill where General Cleburne surveyed the Union position an hour
before his death.

Eileen Ronayne McCarthy, an elderly woman from Melbourne, Fla., had a
weekend visit to the Texas city named for her great-grandfather, Gen.
Patrick Cleburne. She stood amid the original Civil War-era cannons, rifles,
infantry tents, and young men dressed as soldiers, with a look of
contentment.

Steve Maples, of Cleburne, stood beside Mrs. McCarthy, wearing an exact
replica of General Cleburne's battle uniform, and a style of hair and beard
preferred by the general.

"This is our first visit to Cleburne. I'm quite taken by it," McCarthy said.
"Some of what I've read about the general's life, I see here. The rifles and
uniforms ... the memory lingers," she said.

A friend named Calhoun Benham noted in a diary the last time he saw
Cleburne, one day before the Battle of Franklin.

"I shall not forget him, with his old gray cap and his gray cloak hanging
loosely; he seemed to have grown older ... and I shall not forget his last
words when we parted, as he extended his hand carelessly and said,
"Farewell, we may not meet again, but we shall do our duty.' I took it then
as one of his gentle ways of admonishing subordinate soldiers, but the words sank deep into my heart."